


of what can be salvaged

by scorpionGrass



Series: nothing is forever [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Depression, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpionGrass/pseuds/scorpionGrass
Summary: It’s been months since he was at Yuuma’s. Since he’d been hospitalized. Since Mizael told Vector he wants to help him find his reason for being.(How romantic, Vector thinks wryly.)
Series: nothing is forever [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832740
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

Vector moves out of his room, transplanting most of his stuff into the secret library on the second floor. Ally follows him around, sitting on top of cardboard boxes he carries up the stairs and sticking to his heels on his way back down, constantly mewling all the way.

Durbe watches him from his seat on the couch as he goes back and forth. At some point Mizael joins him on the couch, sitting with a laptop and typing away furiously at what Vector can only assume is an essay.

Up and down, up and down, until all that’s left to lug up there is his computer. The tower is double the size of his old one and heavy as fuck. Thanks to Yuuma begging Kaito for a favour, it’s fully customized, packed with the latest hardware, and runs faster than his old one (but he doubts that would’ve been the case if Kaito had known it was for him).

“Do you need help with that?” Durbe asks. “It looks heavy.”

Vector’s nose scrunches up and his eyes set into slits. “I never need help. Not from someone who’s always begged for it.”

He starts up the stairs, not bothering to wait for Durbe’s inevitable reaction where his shoulders cave in and his eyes turn to granite. He’s been bored of that defensive look for a while. It’s just not as fun when he can’t lord it over him on a daily basis (even with the knowledge that all of his grand schemes failed too, but he carried their team even if the end result wasn’t something he ever wanted).

Vector almost loses his balance on the stairs, but Gilag’s gigantic hands are on his back before he can fall over. Vector scowls, craning his head back to look at the big lunk. “What the fuck.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Gilag asks, plucking the tower from Vector’s arms and hefting it under one arm. He tips Vector back flat on his feet with the other. “We could have done this all a lot faster together.”

Vector grits his teeth. “I didn’t know you were home.”

For some reason, Gilag was the one person he couldn’t bite back at.

“I just got back. You could have waited,” Gilag says, but there’s no inflection as if to imply that was the obvious course of action. No tone to tell Vector that he was stupid for not doing so.

“Didn’t wanna put it off,” Vector mutters, watching as Gilag climbs the rest of the stairs, the tower held firmly under his arm. He follows him up, grumbling as Ally curls around his ankle before scampering after Gilag.

Everything is outside the library. Boxes of his few clothes, an old gaming console that Yuuma lent him along with a couple of games, his monitor and computer peripherals, his quilt and pillow… it’s not much, but it’s all his.

“Hey, where’s your D-Gazer?” Gilag asks as Vector looks for the switch on the shelf.

“Don’t need it.”

“Why not?”

“Dueling is boring,” Vector says duly, going through the books on the third shelf on the right. He vaguely remembers it being here somewhere…

“But--”

“I’ll get a new one. One without the duel program,” Vector says irritably, already having been through this conversation with him before. Finally, Vector pulls on the trigger and the wall opens up. He sets it back before it can shut from the other side. “Just help me move my shit and stop asking questions,” he says.

Gilag turns and gives him a look he pointedly ignores.

The library is bright, the sun pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, dust swept clean off the desks and chairs and tables and shelves. The couches look as comfy as ever, and tables are lined in rows by the bookshelves. Everything is spotless and peaceful and… Vector’s eyes narrow as he takes it all in, his nose scrunching up.

“Gilag.”

“Mm?”

“Don’t tell anyone about this place.”

“‘Kay.”

“This is mine. And no one else’s.”

He doesn’t know why he trusts Gilag, but he’s a friendly giant who only ever cooks and cleans and goes to class and watches Saturday morning cartoons and works out. He’s never held a grudge, not like Alit did for a time, or how Nasch still does now. Not like Mizael, who nags at him like an old granny, or Merag who still can’t decide how she feels, or Durbe who keeps watching him from behind his glasses with his creepy, beady eyes, like he’s some kind of scientific specimen. Gilag is just genuinely nice, and Vector doesn’t know why.

“No one will find out. Not from me,” Gilag says, sticking out his pinky finger.

Vector stares at it. “For real?”

“I promise.”

Vector feels like a child, but he links his pinky with Gilag’s, feeling insignificantly small in the process, and the promise is set in stone.

~

It’s been months since he was at Yuuma’s. Since he’d been hospitalized. Since Mizael told Vector he wants to help him find his reason for being.

(How romantic, Vector thinks wryly.)

It’s been months, and all he’s done is stare at his ceiling, enclosed by the four walls that framed his tiny bedroom away from the rest of the mansion, watching as the fan turns round and round, casting goosebumps over his skin, and wondering how to spend his time if he can’t be miserable.

Not when Mizael’s watching, not when Gilag pushes breakfast at his door on the daily and Alit insists on joining him on the couch whenever he’s home so he can chat his ears off.

But the library. The library is quiet. He could be whatever he felt like being, do whatever he felt like doing. He could sleep on the couch till whatever hour he saw fit, he could read comics and play video games and do nothing and everything while Ally did cat things like chase flies and curl up in his lap.

Everyone was forcing themselves on him and it didn’t feel right.

So he forced himself away and felt better.

~

The kitchen table is cool on Vector’s cheek as he watches Gilag go through the motions of cooking whatever he’s cooking. Or maybe he’s baking. The bowls and pots and spoons look so tiny in Gilag’s hands, like a kid playing with dollhouse parts instead of a teenager in a full-sized kitchen. It’s almost funny.

Light filters through the blinds on the windows, splaying light across Vector’s back like a blanket and he groans, stretching his arms across the table. “Tell me why seven in the morning is a good time to wake up again.”

“It’s good to have a structured schedule when you’re depressed. It helps you have a purpose,” Gilag says, hands busy washing rice in the sink. “I read it in a book.”

Vector’s lips pull into a scowl. “What kind of books have you been reading?”

“Books,” Gilag responds vaguely.

Vector shifts, forehead resting on his forearms. “Whatever.”

Somehow, Gilag had memorized exactly which book was the secret trick into opening the library and used this information to wake Vector up this morning. It was infuriating, but he had brought the promise of coffee, and hell if Vector could refuse when Gilag’s the only one who knows how to make it not taste like absolute shit.

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand on his shoulder gently nudging him awake again. Vector blinks his eyes open, feeling groggy.

“Breakfast,” Gilag says simply when Vector shoots a glare at him. “You mentioned you were having trouble eating properly, so I made something simple.”

Vector’s eyes swipe back to the table where a steaming hot bowl of something involving rice is sitting in front of him, along with a mug of coffee that’s more milk than coffee. “What is it?”

“Tamago Kake Gohan.”

“What?”

“Rice. With an egg and some spices.”

“Oh.”

“If you can’t eat it--”

“Just shut up,” Vector says, pulling the bowl toward him and grabbing the chopsticks clumsily. “I’ll try it.”

Gilag smiles, big and wide, and Vector looks away from the pride in it because it’s gross.

“... Thanks.”

Vector’s halfway through the bowl when Mizael joins him at the table, paddling out rice for himself as well. His hair is in a low bun that’s half-undone, and there are black smudges underneath his eyes, probably from the mascara he started wearing to make himself look more awake. There’s a study guide tucked under his arm that he splays out on the table and begins to read.

“Morning,” he finally says when Gilag sets a mug of coffee on the table and he’s downed a few gulps.

“Morning,” Gilag echoes. “Sleep well?”

“Not really. Entrance exams are coming up, so I’ve been pulling all-nighters to study.”

Makes sense, Vector thinks as he watches Mizael dig into his food. He’s been acting less like a pompous ass recently, and sweatpants have become his second skin along with reminders written in black ink on his forearms.

“You look like shit,” Vector says.

“So do you,” Mizael shoots back. “Gilag drag you up at dawn?”

“Mmm, yeah.”

“Alit talk your ear off yet, or?”

“It's a rest day today,” Gilag chimes in. “So he’s not up yet. Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope,” Mizael says like it’s nothing. Vector agrees.

There’s a silence filled with Gilag’s tinkering around the kitchen, and it’s sort of comfy in that weird, familiar way. Vector’s never been a fan of any of the other Barian lords (especially not Nasch), but Gilag and Mizael and Alit have all swindled their way into his daily routines and it’s… something.

There aren’t any morning cartoons today, nor school since it’s the lucid half-month before entrance exams for university, but they’re all still following their usual daily routines without classes every day.

“Does Durbe study with you?” Vector asks.

“No. He has some group from school,” Mizael says, and there’s a hint of bitterness there. “So they’re always at the library.”

“More popular than you? Who would’ve guessed,” he teases, handing his bowl over to Gilag for seconds.

Mizael just grumbles inaudibly.

“Oh hey, it’s a full house today!” Alit says, bounding into the kitchen with Ally at his heels. “Didn’t think I'd see you up five days in a row, Vec!”

“A Christmas miracle,” Mizael mutters.

“What he said,” Vector adds.

Gilag hands Alit a bowl of food and sets Vector’s second helping down before joining them at the table as well. Four of them plus the cat, and it truly is a full house. Vector bristles at it all, but Ally paws at his calves and it’s distracting enough to forget how much human contact is unsettling and yet… Well, he hasn’t quite figured that second part out.

He lifts Ally into his lap and shovels more rice into his mouth.

“So, any thoughts on what you wanna do yet?” Mizael asks, looking up from the study guide. It’s a question he repeats, randomly and often, and every time it takes Vector a full minute to answer.

Because, yeah, he’s kinda fucking trying.

And he doesn’t want Mizael to pin him with that disgusting look of pity ever again.

Vector chews slowly and swallows properly, trying to drag time out a bit in his favour, but he still doesn’t have an answer. “I dunno.”

“Anything?” Mizael prods again. And he never prods. Just nods and accepts whatever bad answer Vector gives him, so this is new. Frustrating. Awful. “Literally a hobby would be better than nothing at this point, and since you refuse to duel anymore--”

“Dueling is useless.”

There’s a pause in which Alit’s eyes dart between them.

“Then what’s useful?”

Vector presses his lips together. He can feel all three of them watching him intently and he wants to disappear. Going from the one who knew exactly what to do and had a plan for everything, to the waste of space in the back who didn’t know why he was waking up was not fun. Still isn’t fun. And he never sees it becoming fun. He runs his fingers through Ally’s fur, hoping to calm down (they’re helping, and helping is pity, and he doesn’t want it, and--)

“Cooking,” he says. “But Gilag does that for me.”

Mizael glances over to Gilag, who nods and smiles. He rolls his eyes. “What else?”

“Breathing.”

“That’s not even close to a hobby. Isn’t there anything you like?”

Vector pastes on a smirk. “Murder. Destruction. I could become a serial killer.”

“You’re not even trying to take this seriously.”

They’re all done their food, ready to part for the day to do whatever they all do. But instead, they’re all glued to their seats in a deadlock. Vector wants to crumble into dust.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything. Something snarky or pathetic, whatever tumbles out first to reject all of this help, but--

“You need to get out more,” Alit says before Vector can regret something. “Like, just, out of the house. And I don’t mean walking around the garden, that hardly counts.”

“Like what then?” Vector practically bites.

Gilag sets a gigantic warm hand on his shoulder and he feels his anger fade a bit, just enough to clear his head.

“Why don’t you join the community centre?” Gilag suggests quietly.

Mizael perks up at that. “Yeah! We’re all members. And they have tons of stuff to do.”

Alit grins. “That’s a great idea! Yeah, they run lots of events, there’s a gym, and different fitness classes, a swimming pool, a spa area…”

“And exercising is good for you too,” Gilag says, finding footing in his own suggestion. “When you exercise, it releases endorphins, and those make you happy. Or at least feel better. You should try it.”

“That from another one of your books?” Vector asks dryly.

“Mhm.”

Vector sighs, pinning them all with an unimpressed glare. “I’ll think about it.”

~

The library is full of books.

Of course it is, it’s a library, but… Vector stares at the rows and rows of shelves and wonders where to begin.

Vector fumbles through the kanji of some of them before gathering them back up and shoving them back onto the shelves. Ally stares at him curiously from the tables and he glares back.

“Japanese is hard,” he mutters, wondering why he’s even trying to save face in front of a stupid cat of all things, before setting off to find grammar books.

He’s always been a quick study, so it doesn’t take long to pick up the hiragana and katakana, figure out what they meant when strung together (because he’s fluent in conversation, it’s just the reading that’s hard). But kanji, that’s where it gets tough.

There’s a book full of them, sectioned off by grade level, and he dumps the heavy tome onto the table, making Ally jump and scamper off underneath one of the couches. Vector opens it to the first chapter and begins.

~

“Need help?” Gilag asks during a commercial break one Saturday morning. “I’m natively Japanese, after all. If you have any--”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure? It’s always easier with a study buddy.”

His lips set into a hard line. “If I need help, I’ll ask. I’ll even say please. Happy?”

“If you say so.”

“Then leave me alone.”

They’re watching reruns since the new season of ESPer Robin doesn’t debut for another few weeks yet. The rest of the house, for the most part, is asleep. Vector sits cross-legged on the couch, leaning against the armrest and flipping lazily through the kanji textbook.

Gilag sets a bowl of miso soup in front of him on the coffee table.

“Eat up.”

Vector snaps his book shut and picks up the bowl, tipping it toward his lips. “Salty,” he comments.

“Too salty?”

“Nah.”

He slurps it up in record time and flips his book back open to the page he was on. He’s started tracing the kanji with his fingers on the pages, trying to throw them into muscle memory as he mouths the words to himself. He’s only got so many memorized, but it’s more than before and that’s more than enough when he doesn’t even know what kinds of books he wants to read yet.

Or if he wants to read any at all.

(It’s a skill, he tells himself. Something he can use when trying to navigate Heartland’s monorail systems because they all lost their Barian powers to just appear places and it sucks ass because everyone keeps telling him to get out more.)

“Hey,” Vector says suddenly, and Gilag actually looks away from the screen as ESPer Robin executes a perfect backflip onto the crime scene.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Mizael?”

“Sleeping, probably. What’s up?”

Vector shrugs, turning his attention back to the kanji book. No one’s ever up this early on a Saturday but them, it seems. "Doesn't matter, nevermind."

The ESPer Robin episode ends on a cliffhanger, but Vector remembers this two-parter well enough. It's one of Gilag's favourites, something he quotes while they're watching, with all the inflections right and everything.

Commercials start playing and Vector feels Gilag's weight pull away from the couch. "Want anything?"

"Whatever you're having," he says absently, running his fingers along the stroke lines for another character.

It's not long before Gilag is back with two cold glasses of barley tea. Vector wrinkles his nose. It's always been too bitter for him, but it's not like he's ever told Gilag he doesn't like the stuff. Plus, he was once lectured enthusiastically about all the benefits of barley tea by Yuuma's grandmother and he's not about to open those floodgates again, especially not with Gilag and his helpful tidbits from random books.

He gingerly takes a sip before setting it back down on the table, just in time for the ESPer Robin theme to start up. Gilag hums along quietly.

Everything is disturbingly comfortable.

~

Vector stares at his pile of clothes, composed mostly of sweatpants, t-shirts, and a singular hoodie that’s ratty beyond salvation. All of it is covered in a layer of cat hair. He frowns at Ally, who watches him debate the issue of whether he really wants to leave the house looking like fucking shit or ask Mizael to borrow something. They have a similar body-type despite their height difference, and hell if he’s going to ask Gilag (a literal giant) or Alit (who would immediately take this opportunity to shove Vector in every ridiculous outfit he owns).

Maybe he should just go shopping, but it’d be on Nasch’s credit card and he doesn’t need Nasch for anything unless he can be a pain in the ass about it. Vector momentarily imagines coming home with bags full of unnecessary designer brands with their associated designer costs and allows himself a grin.

But no, he doesn’t need Nasch. He’s never even home these days, out doing whatever the hell he does with Merag and the rest of his friends. Vector especially doesn’t need his judgment. He just needs… ugh.

“C’mon Ally,” he says, resigned to the idea of rummaging through Mizael’s closet for whatever’s the least gross and most black. “Help me find Miza.”

It’s not hard to find him, not when he spends most of his time locked up in his room studying nowadays for entrance exams. Vector doesn’t even bother knocking, knowing he’ll either walk in on him passed out at his desk or hunched over colour-coded notes. He’d place bets, but cats don’t have the kind of collateral he’d want.

Maybe extra snuggles to make Alit jealous…

As suspected, Mizael is on his bed surrounded by textbooks and notes. Not expected: he’s slouched against his headboard, book open in his lap, eyes shut and blissfully asleep.

“Yo.”

Mizael’s breathing is long and even and there’s a moment where Vector wonders exactly when the last time he slept properly was.

“Gonna borrow some clothes,” Vector says.

Still nothing.

Vector shrugs. “Alright then…”

At some point, when he’s gone through Mizael’s whole closet, Vector starts to wonder if he owns anything black at all, Ally jumps up on the bed to nuzzle against Mizael’s knees and sit on his lap, disrupting the papers in the process and finally waking Mizael.

“What the-- how’d you get in here…” Mizael picks Ally up, tired eyes following the path of her destruction right to Vector. “Oh.” He frowns. “That makes sense.” He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, putting Ally down to rub at them with the heels of his palms. “Why are you here, turning my room into a dumpster?”

His voice is flatly unimpressed. Vector tries a grin. It’s barely effective.

“None of my clothes are any good.”

“What?”

“You want me to leave the house, right?”

The dots finally connect in Mizael’s sleep-addled head. “Oh.” And then they don’t. “Why don’t you just go shopping for more?”

Vector scowls, dropping cross-legged on the floor. “You really think store clerks will take me seriously if I walk in looking like this?”

“Didn’t realize you cared what others think.”

“I don’t.”

Mizael scratches Ally behind her ears and smiles. “Sure.”

“Just-- whatever, fuck you, do you have something black in here or not?” Vector jabs a thumb back at the closet.

“Try checking the dresser, dumbass.”

Vector drags himself closer to the dresser and pulls the bottom drawer open. “You can stop staring at me anytime, you know,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.

“Not yet.”

Vector hunches over, pulling out whatever black clothes he can find. “Suit yourself, it’s not exactly a great view.”

Mizael shrugs, shifting on his bed and messing up his carefully laid out notes more than Ally did. “Whatever.”

Ally purrs softly as Mizael sets her in his lap, hands clasped around her like a cocoon. Vector is only slightly jealous. Ally’s not his cat, she’s everyone’s cat except Merag’s. But it’s not like Ally is only his friend (but she is his only friend, sometimes).

“Why do you own all these… leggings?”

“Yoga.”

Vector scrunches up his nose. He’s never seen Mizael in anything but school uniforms and oversized sweaters, but his workout clothes suggest he’s toned as hell, which shouldn’t be weird to think about. After all, they were all buff as Barians, but it’s a foreign thought now.

“You should try taking a class with me,” Mizael says. “It’s pretty calming, hard at first though. Even meditating might be good for you, it really clears the mind, but it takes practice.”

Vector ignores him. “Don’t you have normal stuff? Like, I don’t know. What’s normal stuff?”

“There should be some track pants in the third drawer. Or sweatpants if you want more of those.”

“And t-shirts?”

“Top drawer.”

Vector’s standing now, a few items draped over his arm that are more colourful than he’d like, but whatever. They work. He licks his lips and presses them together, fiddling with the sleeve of one of the tees. “When’s the next time you’re gonna go?” he asks. “To the community centre?” he tacks on hastily.

“Tonight, actually. Wanted to do some cardio before my yoga class at seven.”

“Oh--”

“Don’t rush yourself.”

“I’m not, I just…” Vector sighs, furrowing his brow and staring at the clothes littering the floor. “Will this really help?”

Mizael shrugs. “You won’t know until you try, and you’ll have to try lots of things. It’s trial and error, and when something clicks, then you’ll know.”

Silence drapes over them and Vector can’t stand it, that he doesn’t have the answers like he used to. That he doesn’t have a plan or any control over his life. That his friends are dragging him along in this haze of emotional bullshit. He feels so vulnerable and useless.

“It feels like I’m wasting time,” he says quietly.

“Hey, no,” Mizael gets up, and Ally scampers away as he gets to his feet. “You’re not. You don’t have to do what I’m doing, or what anyone else is doing, for that matter. But you can’t lie around all day like you have been, not doing anything at all. That’s the real waste of time.”

“I don’t know what the hell I'm doing.”

“None of us do.”

“But I’m supposed to. I always knew, there was always a plan--”

Mizael wraps his arms around him in a tight hug before he can register anything at all, stuck in his head where everything fades to black and rots away. “You don’t need to be that way anymore, Vector,” he says softly. “You’re not surviving anymore. You don’t need a plan, you just need something that excites you enough to get out of bed in the morning, okay?”

Vector rests his forehead on Mizael’s shoulder. “Everything fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, I know. These exams suck too, but I’m still doing them, right?” Mizael pulls back, setting his hands on Vector’s shoulders. “Just because it’s hard, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. All you have to do is try, if you don’t like it then you never have to go to the community centre again.”

Vector feels his brow scrunch up, the tightness in his shoulders fading just a little. “Then, put these aside for me. Just in case,” he says stiffly, holding out the pile in his arms.

“I will. And you’re going to tell me when you’re ready.”

Vector breathes deeply, in and out. “Fine,” he says, right before walking out with Ally close on his heels.

~

“When was the last time you showered?”

Vector grunts noncommittally, flipping through his kanji textbook. It’s been a week and he’s still on the first chapter’s set, dragging his fingers over the strokes like that’ll carve them into his brain.

A hand swipes the book out of his hands and Vector scowls.

“What do you want?”

Rio stares down at him, arms folded across her chest, fingers between the pages of his textbook (and he hopes she’s saving his page, but he wouldn’t blame her if she wasn’t). “When was the last time you showered?”

“Who cares?”

She huffs indignantly. “I do, dumbass! Your hair is a greasy nest and you’ve been wearing the same sweats for at least a week -- you need a bath.”

“Go away.”

“I bought you these,” Rio says without ceremony, dumping a heavy paper bag in his lap. “There’s a bath bomb, a bubble bar, and some bath oil in there. Use them before I spray you down with disinfectant myself.”

She turns on her heel and walks away.

Vector stares at the bag with narrowed eyes. What the fuck is a bath bomb?

~

Turns out, one cannot blow people up with a bath bomb (though Vector’s not sure why Rio of all people might give him anything full of gunpowder in the first place, so that checks out).

Mizael ends up in the bathroom with him, filling the tub up with water so hot that Vector figures if he burns alive, that would certainly be one way to go. Like a lobster, served on a silver platter directly to hell. Vector had always imagined just dying in his sleep. Or at least, that’s how boring and meaningless life has become after the world was reset. Before that, he always figured it’d be in the middle of something much more exciting.

Then again, suicide has been a recurring thing for him.

“Come here,” Mizael says, breaking him out of his reverie and sitting down on the edge of the tub with a comb in hand. “Rio’s right, your hair’s a nest. Let’s at least try to comb it out?”

Vector grumbles, sitting on the floor between Mizael’s legs. The first few tugs of the comb hurt like hell, but he sits through it all because the pain is nice, in some twisted way. “So what’s the bomb do?” he asks when the silence feels stifling.

“You’ll see. They’re pretty relaxing.”

“No death involved?”

“None at all.”

“That’s disappointing.”

Vector tilts his head back enough to catch Mizael rolling his eyes. “We’re doing a hair treatment while we’re at it.”

“What? Why?”

Mizael has already grabbed a bottle off the shelf, squeezing the contents into his hand. “It’s a scalp and hair treatment, your dandruff is gross and your split ends are getting out of hand.”

Vector grumbles some more, but it doesn’t last long when whatever Mizael’s doing with his hands feels like a massage. His hair is longer than ever now, especially since he’d forgone any kind of cut for at least a year, so he doesn’t doubt that it’s as bad as everyone claims it is.

And sometimes showering is so hard that he ends up with hair so greasy that it hurts at the roots.

“Think it’s time for a haircut? Or was growing it this long your goal?” Mizael asks, combing his fingers through Vector’s hair.

Whatever he’s doing is way too relaxing and Vector is annoyed that he had to go and ruin it with conversation.

“Does it even matter?” he grumbles.

“You used to care about how you looked, even if you looked like a complete douchebag on purpose,” Mizael says. “You’re right, your clothes are basically rags. And your hair has seen better days. Merag’s been complaining for ages about your sense of hygiene.”

Vector doesn’t doubt that either.

“I’m gonna introduce you to dry shampoo,” Mizael decides, and hell if Vector knows what that means. “It’s a lifesaver, and I think Merag will thank me.”

Mizael’s wielding a brush now, tugging through Vector’s hair one last time to make sure there are absolutely no knots and all the product is evenly dispersed. The sound of the water running is calming, in a weird, loud, white noise kind of way, and Vector closes his eyes for a moment and imagines that’s all there is. Him, Mizael, and the sound of the water.

“All done. You’re gonna leave all this in while you bathe, and wash it out when you shower.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to leave it in for at least twenty minutes,” Mizael says matter-of-factly. His hands are on Vector’s shoulders now, his light touch soft and warm, thumbs framing the top of his spine. Somehow, Vector doesn’t hate it. “It’s almost full. Wanna see how the bath bomb works?”

Vector doesn’t want to move, but he moves aside anyway, kneeling and resting his arms over the edge of the tub to watch Mizael throw the blue powdery ball into the water. It fizzes and sputters, staying above water-level as it disperses, turning the water blue, pink, purple, and sparkly. Of course Merag would give him something like this.

“That’s… cool,” he says, dipping his hand into the scalding water and swirling the colours together. “What’s the other stuff for?”

“One makes bubbles. The other just helps make your skin softer, you can add it to whatever you’re using.”

“Oh. Okay.”

It doesn’t take much longer for the tub to fill completely. Mizael leaves, his work done as soon as he turns the tap off. “Try to relax,” he says before the door clicks shut.

The water burns, but Vector strips and lowers himself into the tub anyway, not interested in waiting much longer for it to cool down. He stares at his bare torso and arms that aren’t swathed in oversized clothing and frowns. No wonder they all treat him like he’s fragile. He looks so pale, and he’s way too skinny to be healthy.

Vector sighs, sliding down further till the water draws over his lips, and wonders whether this will appease Merag and why anyone would ever trust him in a deep bathtub like this, where it’d be so easy to drown himself.

~

Vector does not drown himself. He comes out of the bathroom over an hour later with wet, freshly washed and detangled hair, smelling like flowers and dressed in Mizael’s clean clothes. When he goes downstairs to eat whatever Gilag’s whipped up for dinner, Rio gives him a once-over from her perch on the couch.

“Much better,” she says with an approving nod before turning back to her soaps.

The next day, there’s a paper bag on the kitchen table labelled “For Vector” in her distinct handwriting, filled with bath products and a new hairbrush.

~

Entrance exams are over and Mizael’s arms have been scrubbed clean of all the reminders he’d written and rewritten in black, smudged ink. He’s gotten a few nights of actual sleep and looks more alive than he’s been in weeks. It’s different, but not in a bad way. It’s worrying, only because Vector starts wondering exactly how terrible he looks on a regular basis.

Vector watches Mizael hum as he pours himself a mug of coffee while Gilag fixes them all breakfast again. Ally is sitting by her bowl, nibbling at the kibble that Vector had poured out for her. Alit is chatting Gilag’s ear off about soccer and how they should totally hit the gym today.

Vector pretends not to notice as all of them exchange glances at him when the community centre is brought up.

“How many do you know now?” Alit asks, the segue an awkward attempt at dispelling the silence that had fallen over all of them. He gestures to the book of kanji on the table when he finally sits down, pulling his chair close to Vector’s as he peers over to look at what page Vector is on.

“I don’t know. Over fifty?”

“Wow, nice!” Alit raises his hand and it takes Vector a moment to realize this is a high-five.

He taps Alit’s palm with his own. “I guess,” Vector says. “It’s slow going.”

“Well, you’re trying to get through multiple grade levels. It’s not easy cramming all of it in at once,” Mizael says, sitting down across from him as usual. “That’s impressive.”

“Without any help, too,” Gilag adds, like it’s a big deal. Vector supposes it is, for a high school dropout.

“When’s the food gonna be done? I’m starving,” Vector complains in an attempt to divert the conversation again.

Somehow it works, or maybe they all just play along, because Alit goes to pester Gilag about the fluffiest, thickest pancakes Vector’s ever seen in his life. “Wow, I knew you could cook, but this smells amazing,” Alit says, sniffing the pan dramatically.

Gilag just smiles, the tips of his ears turning red. “I hope it’s good, I’ve never made these before.”

Normally everyone comes down when breakfast is ready, but today that’s not the case. Vector can’t decide whether it’s a blessing or a curse because Alit won’t stop chattering away, but mostly he hates that he can’t be antisocial when Mizael keeps glancing at him over the rim of his coffee mug. Vector ignores him, but it doesn’t stop a sense of foreboding from creeping up his spine.

Finally, Mizael turns in his seat to face Vector directly, holding his mug tightly with both hands. “Yuuma is worried about you.”

Alit carefully peers over at them as Gilag flips the pancakes. The sizzle is loud against the sudden tense silence.

Vector’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“You’re being a stranger. Exactly what everyone told you not to do.”

“I didn’t promise him shit--”

“We’ve been invited for dinner.”

Vector stares at him blankly. Alit sits back down beside him and smiles widely in a misguided attempt to be supportive.

“We?” Vector croaks.

“You, me, Alit, and Gilag,” Mizael says. “The others are invited as well, but since I’m the messenger… I don’t have to invite them if you don’t want me to. Yuuma doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

There’s that pity again. Vector grimaces.

“Oh, Gilag, you should pick up some recipes!” Alit says a bit too loudly into the silence, leaning against the counter. “Obaachan makes the _best_ food, even Vec says so.”

“Maybe I’ll ask for her ozoni recipe,” Gilag ponders. “Vector said I didn’t make it quite right last time.”

“Plus Yuuma hasn’t dropped off any care packages in awhile… I miss her curry,” Alit adds. “I bet we’ll get sent home with tons of leftovers again! You can take a break from cooking for all of us for a while, Gil!”

Gilag glances at Vector. “I don’t mind cooking,” he says after a beat.

Vector scowls. “I don’t need you to,” he says harshly. “I don’t need your goddamn pity handed to me on a plate just because you want to feel useful or important, I don’t--”

“Vector,” Mizael interrupts softly. “We want to help you get better. Yuuma does too. He’s worried because he only knows how you’ve been doing through us. He wants to see you. Properly. In-person.”

“So you’ve been talking shit behind my back--”

“Dude! Why would we do that?” Alit exclaims, clearly appalled at the idea. “He just asks about you sometimes and we don’t know how to answer. You’re not exactly an open book. You don’t tell us anything!”

Vector slumps back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you always look so fucking disappointed,” he says quietly. The words are heavy on his tongue with the effort of having to admit it, something he never wanted to do. “I bet he will too.”

“There’s only one way to find out. He wants to see you.”

He glances up at Mizael and presses his lips together. “Okay. Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is such a monster of a fic for no good reason and has taken me on/off three years to write so by god i hope it was worth it


	2. interlude

The ride on the monorail is silent and suffocating. Vector leans against the glass as Alit and Gilag sit in seats across from each other, fidgeting and uncomfortable like they have something they want to say. Vector ignores them and gazes out the window, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to purple and pink.

It’s beautiful. He hates it.

Mizael insisted they go visit Yuuma. It’s been so long since Vector’s left the house to do more than walk around the block or run errands at the convenience store or idly feed birds in the nearby park that the entire experience is novel and disgustingly nostalgic all at once.

Since they last visited Yuuma’s place.

The city is different, but only slightly. The skyline still features the Heartland Tower, the monorails are still white and blue, and Vector still hates the sight of the downtown core. 

“Are you okay?” Mizael asks, joining him at the window. “You look…”

“Shut up,” Vector grumbles.

It’s been years since they were given a second lease on life, the Numeron Code restoring their human bodies like they hadn’t died. Scarless and new, even if their minds weren’t. Vector remembers when Alit used to rub at his neck, where he’d been beheaded, like a phantom injury that came back along with the human skin and bones and veins.

Alit and Gilag talk in hushed tones, glancing up at him periodically. It’s so annoying that Vector walks to the other end of the monorail car. Mizael follows him.

“What do you want?” Vector snaps.

“It’s your first time out. Kind of a big deal, right?”

“If you say so.”

He doesn’t want this to be monumental. Important. Life-changing. It’s just a visit to the most irritating cheerful kid on this godforsaken planet. It’s nothing.

“Haven’t you at least texted him at all?” Mizael asks.

Vector glances over to him, watching the way the sunset dyes his white hoodie pink. The colour suits him, just like literally everything else because he’s goddamn perfect. Because he fits into this world like it’s nothing.

“No,” he says.

“Why not? You have a perfectly working D-Gazer.”

“I threw it out.”

“What?”

Vector crosses his arms, shoulders hunching up. “I stopped dueling, so I threw it out. I don’t need it anymore.”

Mizael stares at him. Judging him. “You idiot.”

“I told Gilag I’d get a new one,” Vector says, like it’s any kind of defense. “I just never did.”

Silence falls over them and Mizael shakes his head. “They’re expensive,” he finally says. “Where were you going to get the cash for a new one?”

Vector shrugs. “I dunno. Who cares? If he wants to talk, why doesn’t he--”

“What?” Mizael asks, growing exasperated. “What should a literal teenager do? Most kids in this era are glued to their D-Gazers, it’s how they stay connected. It’s not just a tool for duelling.”

“He used to visit,” Vector mutters. “If he wanted to see me so fucking much, why didn’t he just visit?”

~

Yuuma’s house is only a short walk from the monorail station. It’s a clear night, and Vector’s just glad he borrowed Mizael’s clothes. He’s got an oversized hoodie on and it’s the warmest, comfiest thing he’s ever worn. And his only armour against whatever lies beyond Yuuma’s front door.

He stares up at it from the sidewalk as Alit bounds up to it, Gilag trailing behind him. They ring the doorbell and Vector waits with bated breath for it to open up.

“Don’t look so nervous, dumbass,” Mizael says, smacking him on the back of his head as he passes him. “It’s just Yuuma.”

Light spills from the threshold as Akari opens the door, welcoming them all in with a cheery smile. Vector slowly trudges up to the door, waiting for her to call him out. For her to glare at him and make him promise to apologize.

As expected, she blocks the entrance before he can pass, feet shoulder-width apart, taking up the entire doorway. “Hi, Vector,” she says sweetly.

Vector stares at her dumbly, digging his hands into the pouch on Mizael’s hoodie. “Hi.”

“I thought we told you not to be a stranger?”

“You did.”

“And what did you do?”

Vector huffs. “Not that.”

“Right,” Akari says, stepping aside. “So long as you know and never make that mistake again.”

“Don’t worry. I got a lecture from Mizael too,” Vector grumbles, walking in.

The house smells like a five course meal, and Alit and Gilag crowd around Yuuma’s grandmother as she stirs a pot full of curry, showering her with greetings and hugs and asking her about her day. Mizael sits at the dinner table listening to Yuuma talk his ear off about his day.

Vector grimaces, already feeling out of place.

It’s barely another second that has Yuuma notice him and smile so brightly it could have blinded him. “Vector! You came!” His chair screeches back as he gets up, and soon Vector is wrapped in a bone-crushing hug.

“I did,” Vector says. “Mizael said you missed me?”

Yuuma steps back, setting his hands on Vector’s shoulders. “I did! I was so worried!” he says. “Especially when you stopped texting back, I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

Vector can feel Mizael’s eyes glaring daggers at him. “Sorry,” he says, more out of obligation than any sincerity. “I, uh, threw out my D-Gazer.”

“Did it break?”

“Yeah,” he lies, not expanding any more. “Anyway. I’m here now.”

Yuuma grins. “And that’s what matters! Come on,” he says, pulling Vector to the table and pulling out the chair beside his. “Sit down! Relax!”

Vector sits and Yuuma beams at him. He watches Mizael roll his eyes at him, and he remembers the advice he got to just “act normal.” Vector’s not really sure what that means anymore. Does it mean pretending he’s okay? Or does it mean being just as unresponsive and isolated as he’s been even with everyone pushing their way into his heart like hives that make him itch with anxiety.

Yuuma, as usual, has a billion stories to tell them about school and the Numbers Club (which is apparently still a thing going strong), and the changes he’s made to his deck. Vector ignores the latter, shuttering into his thoughts and trying to distract himself with the clumsy way Gilag helps Obaachan pinch together a batch of dumplings with his gigantic hands. It’s almost funny, except that on his sixth attempt he actually manages to pleat the dumpling together just as well as Obaachan and Vector can’t help but be a little impressed.

“So, what have you been up to, Vector?” Yuuma asks, turning to him expectantly.

Vector blinks at him, realizing he’s actually expected to reciprocate in this conversation. Unfortunate. He tries to draw up anything even vaguely interesting about his life at the mansion, but nothing comes to mind except the kanji books he’s been studying his way through.

“I’ve been… studying Japanese…”

“Huh?”

“Learning to read it,” Vector mumbles, covering his hands with the long sleeves of Mizael’s hoodie. “Since, I can only speak it.”

Understanding dawns on Yuuma, and his mouth forms an “O” shape. “That’s so cool! I didn’t realize you had to learn from scratch,” he says. “Did you have to learn it too, Miza?”

Mizael shakes his head. “Kanji is similar to the characters I once read. Only centuries of time and dialect have changed it, so it was easy to pick back up with a bit of practice,” he says. “And Gilag was already familiar with it all. He was originally Japanese, after all.”

“What about you, Alit?” Yuuma asks, turning to where Alit is sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” he asks, pausing in the story he was regaling Obaachan with.

“Did you have to learn to read Japanese too?”

Alit grins. “Yeah. It was hard, though. I ended up taking so many supplemental after-school classes in first year to catch up that I didn’t even join any clubs that year,” he says. “But Vector’s already memorized all the hiragana and katakana, and like at least fifty kanji! He’s so much faster than I was.”

“Whoa, really?” Yuuma is nothing but impressed, and Vector feels almost embarrassed.

He would’ve learned all of this much sooner had he stayed in school like everyone else. It’s nothing to be proud of. “Yeah,” he says instead, pushing those thoughts down.

“When did you start studying?”

“A couple months ago?”

Yuuma’s eyes are wide. “Wow! And you’re doing it all by yourself? That’s incredible.”

It’s not. Not really. “Thanks,” Vector says.

Somehow, Mizael notices he’s extraordinarily uncomfortable and switches tack with Yuuma, drawing him in another conversational direction and leaving Vector to spiral in his thoughts.

The dark ones that scrape out his insides and make him wonder whether he’d be fine if he’d never dropped out. If he’d actually made any kind of effort (but he’d been so tired of effort, of carrying everyone on his back, and was it really such a sin to not see the point in a third lifetime?).

Alit smacks him on the back as he takes the seat on his other side. “Obaachan really went all out,” he says quietly to him, grinning brightly. “She even made takoyaki!”

Vector latches onto that. “Yeah?” he asks, prompting Alit to go on. “What else?”

“Lots of dumplings and onigiri, in all kinds of flavours,” Alit adds. “And croquettes, and curry… and she even rolled up some sushi for us.”

“Really?” The last time Vector had sushi was disappointing, only because it was two days old and stale from sitting in the fridge.

“Mhm! And apparently Akari bought taiyaki on her way home earlier, so we’re getting dessert too.”

“What one is taiyaki?”

“You know, the fish-shaped bread that’s filled with cream?”

“Oh. Yeah, those are good,” Vector says, the hollowness inside him slowly filling back up. It’s been awhile since he’s had those either. He can’t remember how long, but Rio used to bring a box of them back whenever she passed by that one monorail station up north. “Didn’t Gilag buy something to make those once?”

Alit snickers. “Yeah, and he fucked up like three times before putting the grill back in the box and never touching it again.”

“Did he burn them? I can’t remember.”

“Yep, to a crisp!”

Vector feels his lips tug upward. “I bet that’s why he stopped cooking while watching ESPer Robin.”

There’s a long moment where he feels better, just slightly. He fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves, still wrapped over his fingers so only his short, bitten-down nails peek out. Leave it to Alit to chat away the darkness. Maybe his unending chattiness isn’t such a bad thing.

“You’re  _ smiling _ !!”

“Huh?”

“Your face!” Yuuma crashes into Vector’s side with another tight hug, practically tipping his chair over entirely. “I missed your smile. I’m glad you found it again.”

This time, instead of freezing up, Vector curls his arms up around Yuuma’s. “Yeah,” he agrees.

~

After dinner, everyone offers to help clean up, but Yuuma drags Vector off. He promises loudly to bring him back safe and sound while he leads him upstairs to his room, and then up through to the attic.

Vector hasn’t stepped foot into the attic for a long while, but it’s still full of trinkets from all over the world. The window is open, blowing in a cool breeze that shakes the dust from the floor and makes the old hammock sway. Nothing’s different, from what he can remember. Like a time capsule from years ago, when Yuuma was still in his first year of middle school.

“Why are we up here?” Vector asks.

Yuuma shrugs, sitting up on his hammock and patting the spot beside him. “It’s been so long,” he says. “We haven’t talked in forever, and the last time I saw you was months ago. Last year? Crazy, how time flies.”

“Mizael said you’ve been busy.”

He nods. “Yeah… It sucks. Too bad about your D-Gazer, I left you so many messages.”

There’s that sting of guilt again, but Vector brushes it off and sits down with him, letting the hammock swing slightly with his weight. “Sorry,” he says again.

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault.”

Vector knows otherwise, but he lets Yuuma believe that, anyway. Silence falls over them, and Vector tries not to let his anxiety get the better of him again, pulling his sleeves even further over his hands so they don’t start to itch again.

“Astral liked nights like these,” Yuuma says. “When the nights are clear and you can see as many stars as the city lights let through.” He lies back, propping his feet up in Vector's lap, and sighs. “I miss him too. But at least I still have you.”

Vector fiddles with his fingers before reluctantly setting his hands over Yuuma's ankles. “What a downgrade,” he says wryly. “Trading an ally for an enemy who isn't even grateful.”

Yuuma ignores him, holding his arms out instead. “Stargaze with me.  You'll never see anything if you keep looking down .”

It’s awkward when he lies down alongside Yuuma, but Vector does it anyway, lying flat on his back and attempting to relax. Yuuma’s arms wrap around him again, and it’s something Vector thinks he’ll have to get used to, eventually. He stares through the window and up into the sky, the gradient of Heartland City’s bright lights fading out to pitch black.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Yuuma murmurs.

~

Vector doesn’t really know how long they stayed up in the attic, but when they finally head back downstairs, the kitchen is spotless and all the leftovers are packed up in containers on the counter. Everyone is sitting in the living room playing card games on the coffee table, and Vector is relieved when he sees it’s a hanafuda deck and not Duel Monsters.

He sits between Alit and Akari, who both give him sidelong looks that send him entirely different messages. He has zero doubts it’s about being alone with Yuuma for so long. Akari looks suspicious, and to be honest, Vector thinks she has every right to be; Alit is giving him bedroom eyes and an eyebrow waggle he studiously ignores.

“So what are you playing?” Vector asks.

“Koi-Koi,” Akari says, dealing out another game. Gilag sits across from her with a cheat sheet of the card types on his D-Pad, no doubt her opponent this time. “I heard about your aversion to Duel Monsters,” she adds, “so I thought we could play something else.”

“It’s a lot of fun,” Mizael says from the couch, where he’s curled up with a book in his hands.

Alit scoffs, “Yeah, says the only one of us who’s won.” He turns to Vector. “This guy plays one game, wins, then quits.”

“Just wanted to end my short Koi-Koi career on a good note,” Mizael says with a smirk. “It’s not my fault you two suck at it.”

“That sure sounds like you,” Yuuma says with a grin, coming in from the kitchen with a tray of snacks. “Obaachan thinks we didn’t eat enough, so help yourselves.”

Akari goes first, matching up cards as Yuuma sets the tray down on the side of the table they aren’t currently using. “Go ahead, Gilag.”

Gilag stares at the cards laid out on the table with a pensive look on his face. “Do these two match?” he asks, pointing to two cards and referencing the D-Pad.

“Yeah,” Akari says. “Don’t forget, they might all look different, but all the months have the same flowers on them. What set are you going for this time? We can play open handed if you want, so I can help you out.”

Vector watches them round after round listening idly to everyone chat and commentate, and Akari turns out victorious once again once they’ve counted up all their points. She’s not nearly as loud about her win as Yuuma is, rolling her eyes with a smile as he cheers loudly on her behalf. Alit and Gilag both groan, like this has already happened a handful of times.

“You’re way too good at this,” Alit says. “How long have you played?”

“This was my favourite game growing up,” she says. “Obaachan taught us how to play. It’s a lot of luck, though. Kind of like Duel Monsters, I guess. Sometimes the deck just doesn’t want to cooperate for you.”

“But you make the best of it anyway,” Yuuma adds. “Like Obaachan always says.”

“Did you want to try, Vector?” Akari asks as she shuffles the hanafuda deck between her hands. “We can play open handed too, since you’ve never played.”

Everyone stares at him, waiting for his response. His head rests over his arms on the table and he feels the need to straighten up when he feels everyone’s eyes on him. “Not really,” Vector grumbles after a moment. “I’m okay just watching.”

Akari smirks. “Scared?”

Yuuma snickers from his spot next to his sister. “Don’t worry, I can even the playing field! We can tag-team!”

“Says the kid who lost to me fifty times and still asked for a rematch,” Akari deadpans, ruffling his hair. She starts dealing out cards. “Okay, I’ll sweeten the pot. If you win, I’ll get you a new D-Gazer. If I win, you have to come over at least once a week this month, so Yuuma stops whining about you.”

Yuuma’s face blooms red. “H-hey!” he protests weakly as everyone laughs. Vector cracks a smile. “I don’t whine!”

Her eyes don’t leave him though, and Vector finally shrugs. “Okay, let’s play.”

“Good. Who knows, you might have beginner’s luck like Mizael.”

Alit’s single-person chorus of “Ooooh’s” goes ignored. Vector switches spots with Gilag and picks up the D-Pad, glancing over the months and sets quickly before nodding. “I think I got it.”

The two pick up their cards and begin.

And somehow, Vector wins.

~

When they’re all saying their goodbyes and Obaachan is handing out bags of leftovers, Akari hands Vector a D-Gazer that’s similar to Yuuma’s in shape, but with a red screen. “I got a new one from work, so you can have my old one for now,” she says. “It still works fine, but it doesn’t have the duel program, though Gilag told me that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Vector holds it gingerly in his hands, watching the glare of the porch light flash across the screen. “Thanks.”

“I deleted all my contacts from it except Yuuma, so text him, okay?” Akari says. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“So you’ve said,” Vector says wryly, then more seriously, “I won’t.”

The monorail home is quiet. Alit falls asleep, leaning heavily against Vector’s side. Mizael yawns at least ten times (Vector stops counting after a while), and Gilag sits with all their bags of containers by his side.

Vector spends the entire ride fiddling with the D-Gazer, turning it over and over in his hands. There are scratches on the casing, but the screen itself is spotless save for his fingerprints. He hasn’t turned it on yet, hooked it over his ear to see it boot up binary over his reality.

“Did you say thank you?” Mizael asks when they’re halfway home.

“What are you, my mom?”

Mizael shrugs with a tired smile. “Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally learned how to play hanafuda to make sure my vague references were at least accurate. it's really fun!


	3. Chapter 3

Rio glares at Vector over the arm of the couch where she’s been lounging all morning. “Will you shut that thing off?”

His D-Gazer chimes again. Vector glares at it, sitting innocently on the coffee table. “I don’t know _how_ ,” he says, gritting his teeth.

It’s only been a week since he’d visited Yuuma and somehow won the damn D-Gazer in a bet over a game of Koi-Koi against Akari. One week, and Alit taking it upon himself one afternoon to add all the Barian’s numbers, and there’s rarely been a set of hours when it hasn’t chimed with a notification.

“Who’s texting you anyway?” she asks, lowering herself back down onto the hot water bottle Gilag had prepared for her. Cramps, she’d announced loudly when she’d entered the living room, right in the middle of the ESPer Robin theme song that Gilag hummed along to. Vector grimaces as he watches her lay on the couch, taking up the spot he usually took for himself.

Vector ignores her and the way she swings her bare legs back and forth in the air, staring determinedly at the D-Gazer as if he can silence it with his mind alone.

It chimes again.

“I bet it’s Yuuma,” she says with a smirk before flopping onto her back and setting the water bottle on her stomach. “Kotori said he won’t stop fretting over you, isn’t that cute?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Vector bites back.

Gilag comes back from the kitchen and sets two bowls of miso soup on the table, right next to the D-Gazer. “Hot soup should help too,” he says to Rio. “Do you want some painkillers? Water?”

Vector hates her and how she’s interrupted the only vague routine he has in his life. And how she’s right about it being Yuuma who’s been blowing up his D-Gazer. And how Gilag is ignoring his shows for her.

“Thanks, Gilag. I’ll take something for the pain after I eat,” she says with a smile, sitting up and leaning over to take the bowl.

Gilag nods and heads back to the kitchen for his own serving.

When he’s out of earshot, she grins slyly. “Is this what it’s like being taken care of by Gilag all the time?” she asks, and Vector wants to kill her a third time. “Lucky.”

“If I tell you it’s Yuuma, will you shut up?” he asks through his teeth. “And leave me alone?”

Rio shrugs and tips the bowl of miso soup to her lips.

And it chimes again.

Vector snatches the D-Gazer up from the table and hooks it around his ear. Binary loads up the AR field around him, and Rio is covered in ones and zeros for a single peaceful moment as static fills his ears. Akari was right, it’s still in working condition (but hell, it’s old as fuck).

Yuuma’s messages load up the space in front of him, visible only to Vector, and he’s glad because half the texts are embarrassing nonsense. He scrolls through, amused by the memes and annoyed by just how much this kid talks about his boring days at school and the Numbers Club.

It’s been such a long time since Vector’s thought about school. Three years? He has to mentally calculate it, and it doesn’t seem so long until he actually sits on it. He also keeps forgetting that Gilag’s in the year above Yuuma. Surreal.

“So what’s he texting about?” Rio asks.

Vector slides his eyes over to her. She’s turned around in her seat, letting her bare legs hang off the arm of the couch as she lies back down on the cushions, her soup left abandoned. She’s almost as fidgety as he is, unable to stay still.

“Memes.”

“Memes?”

“There’s a dog who tells terrible puns.”

She grins at the ceiling. “That’s cute.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I really,” she intones, “truly don’t.”

Gilag comes back just in time to watch ESPer Robin backflip onto the scene, and Rio shuts up again, a smirk still stretched across her lips. Vector deactivates the AR field, watching Yuuma’s messages dissolve, pixilated, into the air.

This week is the last week of reruns before the new season debuts, and Gilag eats up the previews after the episode ends. He happily tells Vector about the new villain, the cool new CGI they’ve added, and that Sanagi is going to be singing the opening theme song. He’s absolutely ecstatic, and Vector nods along, unable to be the one to dampen his mood.

Rio watches them, eyes too calculating to be curious, and when Gilag heads back to the kitchen after the episode, their dirty dishes in his arms, she opens her mouth again:

“So you do this every Saturday?”

Vector scoffs. “What’s it to you?”

She sits up, pulling her knees up under her as she keeps the hot water bottle pressed to her. “What else do you do? Alit told me you guys have breakfast together most days too.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You started wearing Miza’s clothes.”

“What is your point?” Vector snaps.

Rio just shrugs, her oversized t-shirt falling off one shoulder. “It’s nice. That you’re doing stuff. Going out. We should go shopping sometime! There’s this new bubble tea place that opened up, but Kotori’s too busy to do much lately.”

Vector stares at her. “What?”

“Or I’ll come with you to the convenience store next time you go. They have such good slushies. Have you tried them? It’s like, crushed ice with--”

“I know what they are.”

“But we should definitely hit the mall. You need new clothes, you can’t keep living in Miza’s stuff,” Rio reasons. “Hey! We could buy you a new leather jacket!”

“I don’t--”

“Miza can come with us too, he has such good taste. Have you tried the shampoo I got you last time?”

Vector frowns at the way Rio has completely taken over this unwanted conversation. “The purple one?”

“Yeah. It smells good, right? I thought you’d like it, but you never said anything.”

To be honest, he hadn’t even thought to say anything. They’d never been a pair to talk outside of necessity. “It’s… nice,” he says with some difficulty, still unable to fathom a conversation with her outside of being snarky and difficult. “I like the one in the pink bottle too. It makes my hair soft.”

Rio practically beams. “That’s the one I use! I figured you’d like it too, since you have dry ends like me.”

He hadn’t realized she put actual thought into those bath products she’d given him. It was far easier to imagine she’d just got a few things off the shelf, hoping he’d clean himself more than he did. “Yeah, it’s,” he hesitates. “It’s nice.”

“I’m gonna be heading out to run errands later, do you want to come with me?” she asks. “It’s mostly just groceries for Gilag to cook with, but he only ever asks for ingredients for stuff you like.”

Vector hadn’t realized that either. He stares down at his lap, where he cradles his new D-Gazer in his hands.

“Alit’s coming with me, so unless you’re still afraid to leave the house--”

“Fine,” he mutters, utterly baited by the challenge. “I’ll go.”

~

The monorail is full, a complete contrast to the day they’d visited Yuuma when it’d been near-empty. Vector stands with Alit as Rio takes a free seat against the windows. They chat, smiling and laughing, and Vector rolls his eyes because of course they’re friends. They’re both as obnoxious as each other.

The mall is also bustling with people, and Rio makes quite a few stops before they finally make it to the grocery store. There’s a jeweller’s display with a bracelet that catches her eye that she just has to try on, a bakery where she buys them all chocolate croissants and lattes, and a record store where she picks up a pre-order of Sanagi’s latest album.

Vector sips at his latte and watches her pay for the album, a limited edition signed copy that comes with a free poster. “That for Gilag?” he asks when she’s done at the counter and walks up to where they’re sitting on the benches outside.

“Yeah,” she says, carefully tucking the poster into a clipboard she pulls out of her backpack. “Think he’ll like it?”

“Of course he will!” Alit pipes up.

“Good. We’ll say it’s from Vector!”

Vector blinks. “What.”

“You know, a thank you gift, for all the stuff he does for you,” Rio explains. “Plus, he’s like the only person you don’t hate.”

Vector feels utterly transparent and seen, and he hates it. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, scowling.

Alit just snickers as Rio tilts her head in concern. “Don’t worry, he’s just mad because you’re right,” he tells her.

So Vector smacks Alit in the arm and he laughs harder.

It takes forever, much too long for Vector’s tastes since he hates going out in the first place, but they finally make it to the grocery store. Alit grabs a cart and skates it into the store, Rio smiling like an idiot behind him. Vector trails behind both of them. Rio forwards him the shopping list on his D-Gazer, and he unfortunately has to go through the process of loading up the AR field just to look at what’s on it.

He hates it, the red that covers half his vision, tinting everything he sees. It might not be the same shape or style as his obnoxiously oversized old one, but it’s the same colour and maybe that’s why it pisses him off so much.

The entire process of going aisle by aisle, throwing things in the cart, watching Alit sneak in chocolates and snacks along with his protein powder, is a lot of walking. More walking than Vector’s done in a long time, considering the entire mall they ventured through to get this far.

He’s exhausted.

Vector leans against the bar on the cart. “Are we done yet?”

“What,” Rio says with a smirk, “you tired?”

“Fuck off.”

Alit’s off on another round of snickers, and Vector wants to tape his lips shut. “It’s been a while. Give him a break, Rio.”

“You should have more patience,” Rio says. “Most of this food is for you, after all. Since you’re so picky.”

Vector grimaces. “I’m not picky,” he grumbles. “I eat everything Gilag makes. And Obaachan.”

“That’s because Gilag only ever cooks stuff you like,” Rio says. “I swear, it’s like you don’t even pay attention. Anyway, what’s next on the list?”

“Noodles,” he answers with a grimace.

It takes forever, but finally they’ve gone through every single aisle and gotten every single thing on the list plus more. Vector shuts off the AR field and pulls the D-Gazer off, glaring at it.

“You really hate using it, don’t you?” Alit comments as Rio starts loading everything in their cart onto the conveyor belt.

“What gave you that idea?” Vector asks dryly.

“You never use it, for one,” Alit says. “Maybe we should all chip in to get you a D-Pad instead. It’s kinda hard to lug around without the duel brace, but you might not completely despise using it.”

Vector grunts, noncommittal.

Soon, they’re all packed up with the bags split between them, heading back to the monorail station and back home, where Vector plans to immediately take a nap because this entire trip was exhausting.

~

Vector rarely actually joins everyone for dinner. Nasch and Durbe are usually there, and he hates having to see them and deal with them and be around them, so he actively avoids the kitchen until everyone has dispersed.

But not today, apparently.

Vector sits in Mizael’s room, playing with Ally and getting further along in his kanji textbook at the desk as Mizael reads a book on his bed. It’s peaceful, it’s quiet (ever since Alit showed him how to put his D-Gazer on silent), and Ally is soft and warm in his lap. And then Rio bursts in without so much as a knock.

“Know what day it is?” she asks.

They both stare at her.

“What day is it, Rio?” Mizael asks, being the one to recover first.

“It’s Gilag’s birthday!” she whispers loudly, shutting the door behind her as she strides in. She places an ornate-looking card on the desk. “We all have to sign this! And you’re in charge of giving him his gift,” she adds pointedly to Vector.

He continues to stare at her. “What.”

“Alit and I got him a cake, so we’re all gonna surprise him with it after dinner and then you’ll give him the album, okay? I already wrapped it, so you just have to hand it over.”

Mizael’s already gotten up and grabbed a pen from his desk, leaning over to sign the card in neat handwriting. Everyone’s signature is there, all different but legible in their own way. Only Vector’s is missing now. He looks over the card, scrunching up his nose.

“I haven’t written shit in years,” he says, throwing it out as an excuse.

Rio crosses her arms. “Too bad. Practice on scraps if you want, but you have to sign this card.”

Vector chews on the inside of his cheek. “I can’t remember how to spell my name.”

“Just spell it out with katakana,” Mizael suggests, like the traitor he is. “You know it now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but--”

Rio snatches up a sticky note from the stack Mizael keeps, and takes the pen from him too. “Vector. Be-ku-taa… Like this!”

She shoves the sticky note in his face and Vector nearly goes cross-eyed trying to focus on it. The four characters that make up his name.

ベクター

It doesn’t look hard. It’s just a bunch of straight lines and vaguely curved lines. He slides the pad of sticky notes over and Rio hands him the pen. It takes him a few times, fumbling with how to hold the damn pen properly, but finally it’s half legible.

“That’s pretty good for a guy who can’t write,” Mizael says. Rio nods approvingly at his side.

Vector bristles, but slides the card over and adds his name to it in the most awkward-looking katakana of the entire bunch. “Happy now?” he asks.

Rio smiles. “Yes. So, family dinner at seven, got it?”

Then she’s gone, leaving Vector in her whirlwind. He can feel Mizael’s eyes on him.

“Family dinner, huh,” Mizael says. “It’s been a while. I wonder if Gilag is cooking for himself again…”

Vector frowns. “He cooks for himself? On his birthday?”

“Yeah, normally. A couple years ago we went out to a restaurant, but the bill at the end of the night… it was expensive,” Mizael explains. “So he started cooking for himself.”

“That’s… weird.”

“Is it?”

Vector spins in his chair to face him. “Doesn’t anyone else know how to cook?”

He knows Nasch does, but everything he cooks looks unappetizing by default. Rio normally gets takeout if she does anything at all. Alit makes smoothies and keeps Gilag company when he cooks.

Mizael bakes, rarely, and only ever makes macarons because they’re bite-sized and colourful. Vector only knows this because he’s seen him working meticulously to pipe them and then ice them before, and it looks tedious as hell, but Mizael always claims it’s calming.

Durbe’s useless and Vector would never eat anything he makes.

That leaves… Vector.

“Unless you know how, I really doubt anyone’s gonna take up the mantle,” Mizael says, coming to a similar conclusion.

Vector sets Ally on the floor and stands up. “He always cooks,” he says, before spinning on his heel and leaving.

~

Exactly two hours later, the kitchen has gone from spotless and gleaming to a disaster zone. Vector scowls at the fire alarm that has decided that no matter how much he pokes and prods at it, it will not shut up. Alit pops his head into the kitchen, concern transforming into outright amusement.

“Having trouble, Vec?” he asks loudly over the alarm, stepping carefully into the kitchen to avoid slipping on the rice grains that litter the floor.

“No, I’m fine,” Vector practically yells, grabbing a wooden spoon and throwing it at the alarm.

The sink is filled with pots and pans of failed attempts at making something edible and the counters are full of Vector’s attempts at rolling sushi. Alit lets out a low whistle. “Are you sure?” he asks. “What are you making?”

“Food,” Vector says.

“Why?”

“Because fuck you, that’s why.”

Alit snickers loudly as he unlatches and opens up the window above the sink, letting the smoke out. “Are you following a recipe?” he asks.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Kind of?” Alit admits with another snicker as he drags a chair over to the alarm and climbs up onto it. “What made you decide to cook, anyway? I thought you said it was pointless, since Gilag always cooks for you.”

The alarm finally shuts off as Alit presses a single button on the side and Vector refuses to be grateful or dignify his question with an answer, choosing instead to turn back to the pot on the stove. He grabs a new wooden spoon to stir it with, determinedly ignoring Alit as he begins chatting his ear off like always.

“You know,” Alit starts conspiratorially, “if you really wanna make something tasty, why not make hot pot? We could do sukiyaki, since we already bought all the ingredients that day.”

“The hell is that?”

“Tasty, that’s what,” Alit says with a grin as he starts unloading stuff from the fridge, including the expensive meat that Vector had been too much of a coward to try cooking properly. “Here, I’ll even help you.”

“I don’t need help--”

“Sure you don’t, big guy.”

“Shut up,” Vector grumbles. “The fuck do I do with this, then?” he asks, gesturing to the boiling pot of noodles on the stove, the easiest thing he could think of that would be impossible to fuck up.

“It’s just udon, right? We can use it for the hot pot,” Alit assures him. “Let me get some ice water so we can cool it down.”

“Then why the hell did I boil it?”

Alit just snickers again, and Vector gets the feeling that’s going to happen a lot in the coming hours.

~

By the time Gilag shows up to get dinner started, Vector and Alit have somehow both almost finished prepping what they need for the hot pot and have gotten the kitchen back to a somewhat cleaner state than Vector had left it in.

Gilag’s frame takes up the entire archway that leads into the kitchen, but it still takes a moment for either of them to see him. Alit’s too engrossed in watching over Vector’s careful attempts to carve decorative shapes into the tops of the shiitake mushrooms according to an instructional video playing on Alit’s D-Pad.

“Hey that actually looks pretty good,” Alit says, shocked, picking up one of them and inspecting the star shape. “You’re not bad at this.”

“Shut up," Vector snaps. "I can’t concentrate when you’re talking,”

“You’re cooking?”

Both of them look up simultaneously, Alit with a grin, Vector like a deer in headlights as the paring knife clatters out of his hand onto the chopping board.

“What about it?” Vector bites out, but then Gilag wraps him in a bear hug and all of his aggression evaporates.

“Thank you,” Gilag says.

Vector feels his neck heat up, all the way to the tips of his ears. He can hear Alit laughing again, and he buries his face into Gilag’s chest. “Whatever,” he mumbles, muffled. “Happy birthday.”

Gilag squeezes him tighter. Somehow, Vector doesn’t mind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah initially this was gonna be a two-shot. then a three-shot. now it's just becoming a giant. welp.
> 
> (i joked once long ago about this series being gilag/vector and i just wanna say that their friendship is my fave part in this whole thing)
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed this chapter <3 i had a lot of fun writing this one :3

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all like my writing, you should hmu on twitter! i'm [@piperEXE](https://twitter.com/piperEXE) :3


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